The 11th Encounter
by FaximumEverdeen
Summary: Max is a famous full-time dubstep artist and girl gamer. Thousands have downloaded her music. But there's something more sinister going on behind Max's mask – something that could affect the whole world. On the 1st encounter, the world will see horror. On the 2nd, the world will see murder. On the 5th, the world with see a bloodbath. And on the 11th, Max will see red.
1. In The Flesh

**Summary: Max is a famous full-time dubstep artist and girl gamer. Thousands have downloaded her music. But there's something a little more sinister going on behind Max's mask – something that could affect the whole world. On the first encounter, the world will see horror. On the second encounter, the world will see murder. On the fifth encounter, the world with see a bloodbath. And on the eleventh encounter, Max will see red.**

**A/N: Okay, I know this is totally more than one writer can handle. But this is going to be a slow story, so I don't have to focus on updating as regularly as I try to with the others. Don't hit me!  
I think this story will have about 22 chapters before the twist. 11 encounters, and an extra chapter inbetween each. As for afterwards, I've planned a horrifying twist I'm sure all of you thrill-seeking night-readers will LOVE.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own MR, any references or games/music/shops that I may use throughout this entire story. (I might have to make some things up though; I don't know **_**that **_**many games. To let you know when I do, I'll put two bold stars next to it: **)**

**Song for the chapter: watch?feature=fvwp&NR=1&v=7NdwYAtdfhE  
(Click to discover, young grasshopper.)**

**The Eleventh Encounter**

**Chapter One – In the Flesh**

I walk down the street, shades down, bag in hand. So far, nobody has recognised me. But they will eventually, because I'm the sort of person who straightens her hair to a crisp and walks around like a gangster, when all she's really doing is picking up a whole truckload of new video games. Everyone knows that.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Maximum Ride, just turned nineteen, famous DJ-skillax and hard core girl gamer. I take pride in never needing security guards at any of my events (well, that's what it says on the _website. _When you get in, it's really more of a borderline illegal teenage mosh pit rave), because when it comes down to it, I can beat them off one by one. People know that by now, which is the precise reason why no one has yet tried to get onto the stage at an, ahem, event.

As I saunter into the GAME store, I hunt down the cash register. Behind it is a teenage boy, maybe a couple years younger than I am, rather handsome-looking and in hand of a stack of video games. He glances up, but doesn't realise who I am, so he goes back to his case sifting. I touch him on the shoulder, lean over the counter, and tap my shades down my nose.  
"Take me to your Peeta." I say in a deep voice. It's one of my more famous phrases from my YouTube gaming channel, which I assume he's heard of, because he works in GAME.

"Holy cra –" his eyes widen, and he backs up a little, disbelieving. "Crah… crh… h…"

"Got any horror games I would be interested in?" I hop up onto the counter and shuffle over.

"Oh, yeah, I'm um." He gathers himself a little, and then quickly starts to look through his video games. "I er, haven't seen you play _Slender_ before? _Walking Dead_?" he offers the games to me, and I take a look at them. _Walking Dead_ looks like it has an interesting storyline, but _Slender_ looks a little… well, childish? I mean, sure a lot of teenage gamers would poop their pants playing it, but I wouldn't. I wouldn't even fart a little.

"Okay." I nod, sliding my credit card into the slot and checking in my PIN. "Thanks. See ya!"

As I shove my card and new games back into my bag and hurry outside, I turn back, and it kind of looks like he's about to faint. Whoops. I guess I just have that effect on game store workers, ha ha. Luckily, he stays upright just long enough for him to mutter "did I just meet Maximum Ride?" and stare forlornly with a slightly constipated look on his face at the cover of _Call of Duty_.

There's a mirror in the door as I walk into Cex (what, a girl can't look good and get de-alz at the same time?). There's a girl standing in there already. She has pin-straight dirty blonde hair, gangster shades and too many piercings. I touch the stud on my bottom lip at the exact same time as she does. Slung into the crook of her elbow is a denim bag, weighted down with video games. She stands on Converse heels, matched with black skinnies and a translucent white button-up which vaguely allows you to see a black lacy bra.

Her eyes dart to the ground when mine do, and she walks away at the same time as me. I may be that girl, but sometimes, I don't feel like I am.

As I browse over the game racks, an attendant comes over. He's male, but not all of them are in here. There are a couple girls too, but the most girls I see working in a game store are usually in HMV (does movies and music, too, but you catch my drift).

"Can I help you?" he asks. His voice is a little hoarse, I expect from asking that all day.

"Horror?" I ask, turning to him. A buzz goes off in his eyes; I assume he's recognised me but decided to play it cool. I get all sorts of reactions when people see me. You get used to it. But from the look of him, I'm not sure that buzz turns up often. He's all clad in black, with obsidian eyes and raven hair.

"Right this way, miss." He walks past me, deeper into the store. It would make sense that they keep the horror games at the back; got to make the front look inviting. Don't want to attract too many creeps.

They have the largest and most varied horror section I've seen today. I'm not a regular customer to anyone, and I usually switch towns when I go game shopping, to get a bigger range. I'm honestly impressed. The shelves go right up to the top. I'm 5"7 and in heels, but I can't reach it, so I'd probably have to ask for a ladder. But luckily for me, on first glance, they seem like the sort of soft horror that beginners play because they're not quite accustomed yet. Well, brother, I'm well past accustomed. I'd say more… _residente permanente. _Probably running for Mayor by now.

I look around with pursed lips. It's big, but I'm _still _waiting for someone to make an all-horror store chain.

"Anything you would recommend?" I ask him, not looking over.

"_Amnesia_?" he seems a little lost for a second, looking for it, then on tip-toes picks the game off one of the top shelves. When he hands it to me, I turn it over in my hands for a moment. I like to get a feel for a game, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I can just tell if I'm going to love it so much that I pee myself. Those are the games that are truly amazing.

"_Amnesia_…" I murmur, scanning over the back cover. "Nice. I'll take it. Got any good gunners, while I'm here?" I ask on a last whim, and he gives me a short nod, looking interested now. Taking me to the gunners rack, much smaller than the horror section, he asks me if I own any _Halo_ games. I guess not a lot of people are interested in gunning as much these days.

"No, but I know the concept." He nods and holds out _Halo: Reach_ in both hands.

"Well, for a _beginner,_" he says pointedly, "I'd say this one."

"Mm." I slip it from his hands and read the info. Simple enough, and entertaining during the daytime. "Alright, this one too."

As I drive home in my rusty orange open-top, I think about that guy in Cex. He didn't seem too cheery, like they're supposed to act. And he supplied me with some quality games; they usually just suggest something crappy and prissy then leave you to it. I'm fine with that, honestly.

I'm too busy thinking about the boy with the raven hair to notice that my fingers are drumming absently on the dashboard whilst I careen slightly to the left. I swerve gently just in time; there are too many cars in the lane next to me and if I cut through I would get some serious personal hate mail.

Almost an hour later, I pull up into my driveway. I slam the door on the way out, yank the keys out of the ignition and sweep up to my door. But as I stand on the doorstep, I can already tell that something is wrong here. The door isn't locked, the way I _definitely _left it. Dylan, my boyfriend since last February and the only person in possession of another key to the house, is in Illinois for the weekend and he's the kind of person that always calls beforehand.

The second thing I notice is the porch plant pot is knocked over cracked in two and the soil has spilt over. The furry little tree is drooping over the edge. Suddenly my hands are searching in my bag for the pocket stake I always keep with me, and I'm frantically scanning my roof for the monster from _Retch Undead_****.**

Wait – oh God, oh God, thank goodness. I live on a public street, where anyone could be watching me. That of course wouldn't seem like a very comforting thought to _you, _but if you thought that Retch was after you, it would be. It doesn't go after people in public places. All I need to make sure of is that I don't go upstairs for a while, because Retch is always above ground level (the reason for the sequel's name, _Retch Above_******, if you didn't know. And also, if you are seriously out of Retch trivia, its name is Retch because it will totally make you barf. I know I did *shudder*).

As I step further towards the door, still clutching my stake because I'm not ashamed to say that video games have made me completely paranoid, I notice the third thing. Whispering. Either my door is trying to tell me to freaking get in the house already, or somebody's in there. I step closer, and hear someone say 'hush' in a constricted voice. Okay, Retch is DEFINITELY in my house. Oh God. Oh my God.

Now, when I open the door, I must stab him in the mouth before he can scream. Okay, calm down, Max. Don't die before he can kill you. That's just not fair. At least he's had the decency to wait 'til you got home.

1…

Raising the stake to mouth height.

2…

Opening the door.

3…

Stepping through the threshold.

4…

Here it comes.

5.

"FLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSH HHHH."

Oh God.

I'm so dead.


	2. Suited to Her

**A/N: Huzzah, peasants. It is I, your faithful half-wit squire. I carry a message atop my back:**

**So I decided to scrap the 22+ chapter system, at least for now. That's because I realised I might want to do someone else's POVs sometimes. Plus, I haven't even decided what was going to be behind the door yet, but I do have lots of ideas!**

**I shall keep you hanging a few days longer then, and give you a chapter from somebody else's POV. But I think you'll like who I'm talking about, so you won't mind, right? …Right?**

…

…

…

**And then I fell out of a twenty-two storey building.**

**The End. :)**

**Song for the Chapter: watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=Q5aW_cBkUes**

**-Faximum**

**The Eleventh Encounter**

**Chapter Two – **_**Suited **_**To Her**

"No – oh God no – someone tell me not to look! I can't help it! Okay, I'm just going to peek. If I open it just a _second _then they won't see – AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHJ RBJHKFDJBFRKFBWLFALJUBUI!"

I pause the video and feel a chuckle rumble from my throat. I love Maximum Ride so much.

I'm pretty sure every guy in the world, and most girls while you're at it, has strung together those six words during their lifetime at some point. Everybody's either heard one of her songs mentioned somewhere, visited her channel once last year, or has her posters covering every inch of their house. Either way, she's been a sensation ever since she posted that first remix of a Paramore song. She didn't have any manager or recording deal, any precise motives for doing it; if we're honest not many friends either. Just a naïve fourteen year old without a steady road. That was five years ago: now she's nineteen, and so am I.

My real name is Nicholas Batchelder, but everyone calls me Fang. There's no particular reason I guess; when I was growing up I started working out, which gave me a bigger frame, I let my hair grow out a little and I started wearing black clothes. One person called me emo, trying to get to me, but I'm glad it never caught on. A mid-high school friend thought it was funny though, and called me Fang, I'm guessing because it's a fitting nickname for an emo.

I work in a Cex store now, every Friday to Tuesday. Speaking of my job, I should be going in about half an hour. Every Saturday, I wake up at half seven, get ready for the day, and either watch whatever's on TV or some classic Max, up until nine when I go to work. I'm hoping to work for a better company at some point. It may seem a little nerdy to you, but I want to be a game developer. I'm not saying Cex is bad, but they're always very cheap. It just doesn't seem very… professional.

Deciding I can watch for another ten before I need to get up, I press play again. If I'm ever feeling down, Max cheers me up immensely. And her music inspires me more than I can say. That's why I love her.

"Oh dear mother of all that is HOLY. GOGOGOGOGOGOGO." Max hisses, forcing her poor traumatic character to sprint down the dingy hotel hallways. She's gotten herself into some dog-pile guano there, that girl, walking into the hotel even when the others told her not to. And I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to get in until later on in the game, but that's just the kind of thrill-seeker Max is. "Can get out – of this window – oh jeez girl, grow some panties, we're only on the _second _floor. _I _would've jumped out." I bet you would, Max.

Faster than I know it, ten minutes has passed, and it's time to get moving.

At about one, I begin to get a little bored of introducing beginners to their gaming sections and decide to get myself accustomed to the kind of games we sell here. That might make me better at my job, because I can recommend some relevant games and then people will want to come back again.

Walking around the horrors at the back, I see that we've got a good range. Mostly, this store sells pre-owned. That would mean that a lot of people would have to have sold these to Cex, and that means this state has a lot more sissies than it needs. Somehow, I find my mind wandering back to Maximum Ride, and thinking that what America needs is more people like her. It's a hopeless thought, really, because we all know that there will never be anyone as cool as Max. What I would give to…

_Okay, that's not the point._

To take my mind off the subject, I study a few games. Some are spine-chillers, for giving you goosebumps whilst you're in-game ghost-busting, but not things that would freak you out when you turn off the lights. And some are spooks, for the paranoia factor, but not things that would make you carve your own wooden stake and carry it around in your denim handbag. The next type I come across are based on true stories, like old houses in the country or the pyramids of Egypt; just spiced up a bit to get you interested. These are all nothing like the kind of game Max would be playing. She's completely all-out.

For some reason, I immediately find myself searching for a game worthy of her almighty zombie-butt-kicking skills. I've actually been researching horrors; trying to find the best and worst, the most spine-tingling and the most full-on screech-seeking. And I've been watching her videos ever since she started, so I should know what she would love. What… who she would love…

_That's not the point either. She has a _boyfriend_, Fang; it's none of your business. You don't _know_ her._

But I feel like I do.

Turning away, I see an interesting-looking girl standing in the racing games section, and on a leap of faith decide to go and greet her, to see what she's looking for. As I head towards her, her head turns to me. I freeze immediately in my tracks, a blaze of recognition in the back of my throat. I can't be sure, because she's wearing shades, but another hint is that I've seen her vlogging with those glasses before. I swear I have.

"Can I help you?" I ask, my voice scratching like sandpaper with nervousness, willing her to speak. If she would only, I would know for sure; that husky yet smooth voice, with its natural seductiveness that I'm sure she's never noticed.

"Horror?" she replies with a question, and my breath hitches and settles in my windpipe. It's _her. _Max is talking to me.

_WAIT. Play it cool, Fang, like you don't know who she is. This could be your only chance to get to know her. If she thinks you're some kind of mad fan, she won't want anything to do with you. She's above that…_

"Right this way, miss." I call her miss, desperately trying not to replace 'iss' with 'ax' and weaving coolly past her. Horror is definitely her forte; I'm not surprised this is what she's looking for. Just for the record, I'm so glad I decided to take a closer look at these.

She glances around dismissively, quite plainly deeming these unworthy, and so totally not scary enough. I'm ready to help her at any second she needs, but instead, when she says, "Anything you would recommend?" I hesitate for a moment, not wanting her to think I'm too enthusiastic.

"Amnesia?" I didn't see that one here yet, but I've read all about it online. It's something that I could watch her play for hours on end and still be on my toes by midnight. Thankfully, I swiftly find it on the top shelf – that could've been disastrous; if we didn't have it I would've looked like some kind of pillock. On my tiptoes, I shift it off the shelf and hand it to her. She turns it over, weighting it, and then I think that this is only something that a true professional would do. I want to be a professional too. I want to be a professional with her.

"Amnesia…" she murmurs, making me nervous all over again. Finally, she concludes, "Nice. I'll take it. Got any good gunners, while I'm at it?" I didn't expect her to say that. Not that challenge/survival isn't something she does like breathing.

I take her over to the gunner section, which is just a rack a few rows away from horror. "Have you played any Halo before? That's entertaining." I tell her, but of course I _know _she hasn't. She's done several haul videos and shown us her collection multiple times. I never saw any Halo.

She begins to smirk, which is so _adorable _and _dangerous _at the same time it's almost _criminal._ "No, but I know the concept."

"Well, for a _beginner,_" I say with emphasis, because it's pretty obvious by now that I know who she is. If I hadn't, I would never have shown her Amnesia, and she knows it. "I'd say this one," I finish, offering her a Halo: Reach disc.

"Mm." she takes it from me and contemplates, before deciding, "Alright, this one too." She glimpses the pricing stickers, forks thirty dollars out of her back pocket and hands it over. Then, without another word, she saunters out of the shop so arrogantly and so elegantly that I almost pee myself.

That, my friend, is the mark of a true badass.

As I drive home, I think over my encounter with Max again. It was so short I can hardly believe it was real. I don't have enough proof to even convince myself, yet I saw her with my own eyes.

There's another reason that I want to be a game developer. I want to create the perfect game for Maximum Ride; and watch her play it over and over again. I want her to love that game more than any other game she's played before, because I know how much she enjoys them. I want her to…

_Just shut up once in a while, male thoughts, will you?_

So, I'm just going to have to make a game that's perfectly _suited _to her _slender _body.

Ha-ha, I made a pun.


	3. DJ Wanted

**A/N: It's been way too long, but here's the new chapter, bros. Max's birthday is the 26****th**** May because in the books she got the name Ride from Sally Ride, and that was the day Sally Ride was born. Enjoy!***

**The Eleventh Encounter**

**Chapter Three – DJ Wanted**

Now, I'm used to tight and dangerous situations, not just in the gaming world. Especially being a female teenager, I'm under some threat just walking on my own at eight pm. But, trapped pretty much out of my own house with a horrendous bloodthirsty mutant at my heels is not a good idea. However, being as prepared as I am, I'm ready to sab the poop out of this thing until I see it writhing on the floor with… _laughter?_

"You… tried to… HEHEHEHE… kill me!" Retch giggles in an irritatingly familiar voice, hugging his knees to his chest. Then he whips his 'face' off and Iggy is now lying, wheezing, on my cloakroom floor. "With… heheehe… a stake!"

"That's what you're supposed to use, if I remember correctly, to murder a vampire, a Retch… and an IGGY!" I hiss, raising the stake menacingly above my head again. Iggy's look of hysterics rapidly morphs into a look of pure terror, and he scrambles clumsily off the cold wood. As he races through to the kitchen, I'm hot on his tail. He flails his arms out behind him and begins to screech like a little girl as he hurtles towards the open back door. Oh, no you don't, Iggy.

Oh, no you _don't._

I shove the stake back into the bag and fling it through the lounge door as I pass, not waiting for the tell-tale _thump _that means it's landed on the couch, and gradually speed up towards Iggy, who's already out on the patio. I throw myself at him, straddling his hips from behind, and wrap my arms around his neck. "Where should I scatter the ashes?" I yell over the commotion: Iggy's yelps for mercy and some thumping around in the house.

"In your game room please! I pretty much live there anyways!" Iggy shouts back, whilst trying to throw me off like a Buckaroo. He gives one last fruitless tug on my arms, then spies the picnic bench, and I catch on quickly to his plan.

"Don't sit on me, please! Please! You're a fat lump! Have mercy!" I cry, but Iggy just chuckles menacingly.

"I'll put your ashes in Dylan's underwear drawer, shall I?" he begins to giggle again, positioning himself in front of the bench, ready to plonk down.

"You know? I would like that." I reply with a sense of finality, scrunching up my eyes and nose and bracing for impact.

"Oh, you would? I think I would too." A wonderfully familiar voice murmurs from somewhere on the patio. I immediately l jump backwards off of Iggy, pushing him over onto the grass in the process, and bound over to where Dylan stands in front of the sliding glass door. I encase him in a warm, tight hug. "Whoa, down girl." He grins down at me (which is only a few inches), and I grin back.

"What happened to the trip?" I question, stepping back and allowing him to breathe.

"Cancelled. Apparently, the baby came early." He says, referring to his aunt's pregnancy, which had been reason for his journey. "I'm still going to see her, but they need some time to get her settled into her new home before a bunch of strangers barge in and start cooing at her little baby face."

I glance behind him to see my brother, Ari, filming this whole charade with his video camera. "How long have you been here?" I ask suspiciously, arching an eyebrow. Ari snorts, stifling laughter.

"Er, long enough. Let's just say, the viewers are going to get some kicks out of this one." His face breaks into a feral yet warm-hearted grin. I roll my eyes, weaving around the boys and back into the kitchen. You see, I pretty much spend all my time with boys: the only permanent females in my life are my mom, my mom-in-not-quite-law, and my 'agent' Brigid, who sorts out all of my shows. The problem is, they're all late-twenties and above, which does not count them in the giggly sleepover category.

I plonk myself down on the couch, twisting so that my legs hang over the arm, and let my torso fall so that my head rests on the couch – or at least, what I thought was going to be the couch, but is now someone's lap. Glancing up, Dylan is smiling fondly down at me. Then I look over at the boys: Ari is following Iggy's movements with his camera, and Iggy is admiring the new games which I clearly told him to raid my bag for. I also specifically told him to scatter everything else across the carpet, and since Iggy is so good at following instructions, that's exactly what he did.

"So, Maximoo. Fancy getting your butt whipped at Halo?" he asks off-handedly, still scanning the back of one of the cases. I narrow my eyes. I smell a challenge.

"If you're asking to play _me_ at a gunner game, I'm not the one who fancies their butt whipped." I snarl, letting some canine attitude seep into my tone.

"Oh, oho, _ho_." Iggy looks up, eyebrows raised, clearly put out. "You did not just say you're going to beat me, did you?"

"No, I didn't. But I _implied _it." I smile sickly sweet, causing Iggy to launch himself at the Xbox above the TV screen, and snap the whole thing on in a rush. He has a look of furious concentration (also known as severe constipation) on his face when he turns on three controllers and throws them out, and as he sits down next to Dylan, he looks at me with a serrated you're-so-going-down glint in his eye. I swing round so I can look at the screen and Ari can sit and film next to me. It's treading on thin ice to step into Iggy's territory, but there are perks. For example, it's hilarious.

I only just glimpse Iggy selecting the Xbox Live symbol and before I can blink, I find my player on a hill. Jogging down to the bottom, I find a Revenant has spawned in so I quickly grab the driver's spot and speed off at ground level. My plan is to team up with someone who has a couple of guns and explosives, so we can just drive around the map flinging annihilation at poor unsuspecting players. Phase 2 is complete when I find Dylan aiming a sniper rifle at someone up the other side of the valley, and he quickly jumps in. Now for Phase 3: let's go bust some heads.

"Unfair! No tag teams!" Iggy wails.

* * *

I sit against an arm of the sofa, legs stretched out, scrolling down our website stats page, searching for the number of requested videos. Ari sits across from me; his feet touching mine, uploading the Halo video to my gaming channel. We have an elongated sofa for purposes like this, and Ari and I happen to be about the same height, so we both take up half. Iggy is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the sofa, watching the screen intently. "Ooh! Look how many people want you to get Minecraft!" he says eagerly, like a kid in a candy store (a kid whose mom just handed him fifty bucks and told him to go nuts).

"Ehwat?" I ask, pulling a face. Iggy pokes the screen vigorously, attempting (and failing) to point at a few of the comments.

"The guys and I have been doing a series lately, and we've gotten a lot of views on it. They just want you to join in; see how good you are at a game where you don't have to prance around shooting everything that exists." He elbows me in the ribs accusingly. There's a pause, then…

"Ehwat?"

"Ugh. Right, let's have this computer," he mutters, prising the laptop from my legs where it so constantly sits, and squeezing onto a sliver of sofa next to me. I sit up and watch, mildly interested. He goes onto an unfamiliar website and clicks 'download'. "Happy birthday." He puts in his own details to pay for the full version of the account. My brows knit.

"It's November. My birthday is May 26th." I tell him pointedly.

"Okay, merry Christmas instead then."

"That's in a whole month."

"Oh my God! Happy November, Max! HAPPY NOVEMBER!" Iggy rages. In the corner of my eye, I see that Ari's filming again. I chuckle, turning my attention back to the screen. He plonks the laptop back on my lap, having finished the procedure.

"So, what exactly is the aim of it?" I ask and Iggy turns to me like I'm a madwoman.

"Mine… build… explore… adventure… create!" he answers in a misty, far-off voice, which breaks into a flat monotone on his next sentence. "I'll leave most of it for you to discover. Wouldn't want to give you a head start." He walks out, probably heading to the 'stress chamber', also known as the game room. I turn to Ari, and we shrug at the same time. Sibling intuition, see.

I go back to the website, clicking on the toxic green 'Forums' heading under the title. I scroll through some recently posted chats to see if there's anything interesting to look at. Number sixteen is a thread headed 'HIDECCO PARK NIGHT RAVE', which catches my imagination, because I live just off a small town called Hidecco. I click on it and see a string of details about a party, and a signup link right at the bottom saying DJ WANTED. _Ooh._

Skimming through the comments, it seems like nobody's signed up yet, and the comments are still rolling in, so it's an active conversation. My laptop has automatically signed me in as MROfficial (the guys made their own accounts in the same format: IGOfficial, AROfficial and DBOfficial), so I click on the add comment box, type in a message and hit send. It gets immediate varied reactions, which I decide to reply to, for the LOLZ.

**MROfficial; 18:23 **Hmm. Interesting.

**ZOMG Nuggets; 18:24 **ZOMG! Nuggets!

**Piratechnics; 18:24 **Calm your nuggets, woman. It's probably some hobo pretending to be Max.

**Step Station; 18:24 **MAX! MAX! MARRY ME!

**MROfficial; 18:25 **I live in a house! :(

**Piratechnics; 18:25 **answer a question only Max would know. Then we'll see.

**ILUVMR28_; 18:25 **OHMERGERD! Am I hallucinating? D=

**MROfficial; 18:25 **If only I would know, then how are you supposed to know if I'm right?

**Maelstrom; 18:26 **OH MY GOD. This is going on Facebook RIGHT NOW!

**Piratechnics; 18:26 **that's exactly what Max would say!

**ZOMG Nuggets; 18:26 **I told you! Who did I tell? Oh yeah that's right! You! Me! That's who told you!

The conversation with Piratechnics goes on for quite a while, in which time the comments from ZOMG Nuggets and other passing users get more and more wacky, and a few of his friends join in. I get out of them they all live somewhere around Hidecco and that they will all make sure they're at the party if I'm going. I make them swear on this invisible cactus right here that they will not spill, and promise that I will definitely be at the Hidecco Park Night Rave.

***or die**


End file.
